The End Times Club

This story was once called The Doomsday Club, and years ago, it was part of the Doomsday Chronicles Series before the Doomsday Chronicles was revised and became a trilogy. The story was omitted from the series, and a couple of the characters were then used or recreated in other stories like the Doomsday Trilogy books or The Apocalypse Asylum.

However, I felt it was a great waste to simply toss this whole story away, and this story does hold a special place in my heart, so... I've decided to repurpose it as a standalone and revise it here. I suppose you could call it an 'alternate universe.'

Enjoy!

@Free Speech Press/Free State West Publishing

All Rights Reserved.

Allendale was a peaceful and remote southern town—and it was home to a fearsome friend group that was coming together yet again for the evening.

None of them knew of the slow-rising dangers evoking across the country; as of now, unknowingly for the final time, they were simply enjoying their lives like always.

About an hour before the Arsonists concert was meant to start, Samuel was in the house, dressing himself and preparing for his show tonight. Jon sat in Octavia’s van, both of them waiting impatiently, parked in front of the house and waiting for Samuel to come out.

After ten minutes of sitting in the darkness, Jon was tired of waiting. He glimpsed around, eyeing the neighborhood homes and tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his short, thick hair, pushing back his wavy black bangs.

He planned to spend some time at the concert, so he checked the mirror and briefly surveyed his appearance. Jon had large eyes, the faintest hint of a black beard trying to grow from his chin, and a slightly rounded face—not perfectly circular, just somewhat jovial, with cheeks Octavia often described as pinchable, like a baby’s butt cheeks.

He snickered at the thought, then pushed the mirror away and gave the house another glance. Mohinder’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and many of the windows were darkened.

Jon checked his phone, seeing that it was almost nine-fifteen. He texted his friend only an hour ago; Samuel was supposed to be ready by nine. He certainly liked to take his time.

“Come on,” Jon muttered to himself, thumping the back of his head against the seat. “Come on, come on, come on…”

At last—a skinny man in alternative apparel flew out the front door, flicking his leather vest and adjusting it firmly as he rushed down the concrete path. He moved around the van and leaped into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and whipping his head to sling the stringy bangs from his eyes.

“Hey-hey—sorry—I needed a shower and I had to speed-dry my freaking hair,” Samuel explained, snapping the seatbelt on. “We good on time?”

“Yeah,” Octavia affirmed. “Mohinder’s coming, right?”

“Oooh, you should know better. He’s not gonna go near the Valarium anymore, not while he’s wrapped around that harlot’s finger,” Samuel laughed. “I’ll try and get him out there. Once I’m done with my show and I got a few drinks in me, I’ll be blowin’ his phone up.”

“You know he hates it when you do that,” Octavia giggled.

“So what? You think I shouldn’t?”

“No—you definitely should. Blow his phone up. He needs to party more than any of us. Maaan, I would love to see him drunk.”

“Yeah, that’ll never happen as long as he’s shacked up with that pinup girlfriend. I have never seen a woman as high-strung as her. Rachel is a walking strap-on, I swear to God…”

As Octavia and Samuel laughed and joked, Jon drove on, and he didn’t speak until Samuel began fiddling with his earlobe.

“Fuck—what are you, gay?” Jon yanked away from Samuel. “Stop it.”

Samuel grinned, a signature mischievous smirk of his, his nasolabial folds curving around the corners of his mouth in a way specific to him and no one else. He was the only person among them who could fashion such a devilish grin when he wanted to. In fact, with his dark sandy hair combed back in waves, his hairline in the shape of a V, his black Gothic eye makeup, his spikes and chains, and the tiny bit of hair that was trying desperately to grow beneath his lower lip, he looked downright diabolical, almost like a villain from a children’s show.

At least, Jon thought so, and he gave Samuel a double-take. “Do you really have to wear all that makeup when you go on stage? I’m just curious—what gender does your band manager think you are? And when are your fake tits coming in the mail?”

Octavia burst into laughter.

Samuel leaned back coolly, lighting a cigarette and blowing it in Jon’s direction. “I could pull off fake tits better than you pull off your real ones, fat boy.”

Jon reached over, blindly smacking at him as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. Samuel succumbed to the slap fight, the two of them swatting mindlessly at each other as Octavia collapsed in the back seat, suffocating on her own chortles. They didn’t stop smacking at each other until Jon was forced to jerk the steering wheel to the side, narrowly missing a parked car on the side of the road.

When they arrived at the Valarium, the three of them lost themselves to the madness of the concert; Samuel was sure to drink before going on stage, loosening himself up enough to perform the Arsonists’ most popular song with confidence. Octavia and Jon took turns drinking and trading conversation with strangers—and for a while, none of them were bothered by their life problems.

Jon stopped worrying about his responsibilities, and Octavia wasn’t worried about finding a place to sleep tonight, nor was Samuel worried about paying his portion of the bills.

For now, all was well.

“Who are you texting?”

It was the fanciest restaurant outside of the city, a glorious place called Bridges. The inside matched the décor of most five star restaurants, the color scheme of the carpets, drapes, and tablecloths a silky red combined with a vibrant white, each table decorated with candles in between the salts and peppers. It was the only restaurant in town that Rachel truly approved of—and, coincidently, it was also the most expensive restaurant in these parts.

Mohinder enjoyed the cheaper places just fine—he loved the enchilada buffets and the fast food joints he often frequented with his friends—but Rachel was more than a friend, and pleasing her was top priority.

He stopped typing abruptly, sliding his smartphone back into his pocket.

Rachel raised her pencil-thin brows, her beautiful, porcelain face wearing an empty smile, her bottle green eyes shining in contrast with her dark brunette hair and her ruby-red lips.

Her attractiveness went hand-in-hand with his, as he was a handsome catch she was proud to wear on her arm, with his caramel complexion, his wavy black hair slicked back with just the faintest application of gel, a couple of loose curls dangling over the top of his forehead, his eyes dark, shiny, and captivating, his body the perfect compromise between slender and toned. Many people often commented on the couple whenever they were out in public, stating that they were a cute match, and they looked like they belonged side by side in an elegant portrait or on the cover of a magazine. Much the same as they appeared here and now.

“Who are you texting?” Rachel asked again, her voice lightening in that friendly way, that voice of over-politeness she often used to get her way.

Mohinder returned her smile. “Nobody. It’s not important.”

Rachel’s smile seemed to wane the slightest bit.

“You know how I feel about secret-keeping, Hindy,” Rachel said, running her finger along the rim of her wine glass. “It’s not a big deal. You can tell me.”

Mohinder repressed a sigh.

Most of the time, Rachel didn’t like hearing about his friends, and he couldn’t always trust her words whenever she dismissed something as ‘not a big deal.’ Somehow, it always seemed to become one later…

“I… was just telling Samuel that I won’t be able to make his concert on time,” Mohinder replied truthfully. “He keeps texting me, asking when I’m gonna show up.”

Rachel smiled again, though this time, the smile seemed somewhat predatory. “So… how long is he gonna be there, you think? How long is your house gonna be empty…?”

Mohinder smirked. “Hopefully long enough.”

Rachel tilted her head, almost posing as she returned the flirtatious grin.

His phone vibrated again.

It was the fifth text he’d received, Rachel frowned and looked away as Mohinder pulled out his phone again.

This time, it wasn’t a drunken, sloppy, and barely-legible message from Samuel—but a new text from Octavia.

Dude, come party with us! :)

Mohinder blinked and pocketed the phone once more.

Rachel shot him a disapproving glare. “It’s date night. You should really turn your phone off.”

“I can’t,” Mohinder told her. “My friends only have one vehicle between them right now, and they might need a designated driver later in the evening.”

“That’s not your responsibility,” Rachel said curtly. “You’re allowed to have your own life away from them. You’re not their babysitter. Honestly, you’d be a lot better off without them.”

Mohinder released a stressed cloud of breath.

He felt an argument coming on—the same argument the two of them always had, the one where Rachel complains endlessly about all of his friends and expresses her desire to push them all out of Mohinder’s life. He really cared about her—he truly did, and he wanted to make her happy—but shoving all of his friends out of his life wasn’t exactly a fair expectation.

“Besides, what about the other van?” Rachel added. “They won’t need a ride.”

“No—that’s not the point, Rache. They can’t drive if they’re all drunk.”

“And whose fault is it that? It’s theirs. So, let them deal with it.”

“Let them drive home drunk, you mean.”

“It’s their problem—not yours.”

“I understand that, but they’re my friends—”

“Yes, they are—and that’s the problem.”

Mohinder swallowed an irritated groan, hiding his face in his hands and grinding his teeth.

Rachel’s entire demeanor had changed; she was no longer leaning forward, her breasts partly visible from her low-cut dress, which was a deep, sensual crimson covered in tiny sparkles. Her teasing smile had vanished, and now, her breasts were covered by folded arms, and she was leaning as far back as her chair would allow, distancing herself from her boyfriend as she scowled at him from across the table.

For a moment, the two of them fumed in silence. A few people at the nearby tables spared them an intrigued glance, though they quickly looked away when Rachel shot them deadly glares.

Mohinder stared at her for a moment, wondering what he could say to end the argument. Rachel continued to stare to the side, pretending not to notice him.

“Rache, I love you,” he told her. “But I need to be allowed to have friends.”

“But why them?” Rachel pouted. “Why do your friends have to be them? A sarcastic-ass wannabe rock star—who, by the way, never treats me with respect—and that chubby guy who’s always talking about doomsday prepping or whatever? He’s clearly out of his mind—and a homeless girl? Are you serious?”

“Rache—I’m on vacation. I have the entire week off, and I was planning to take you out every night this week for your birthday. Do you really want to spend my entire vacation hashing out this same old argument?”

“Of course I don’t—but you’re not giving me a choice. We’ve been sitting here for an hour, and you can’t keep your phone put away for longer than five minutes. Why do you always come running every time Samuel asks you to? He’s a moocher—”

“For your information, he’s not the one who texted me just now. It was Octavia.”

“Oh, the homeless street urchin—yeah, that’s much better. I love it when you text nasty homeless women when you’re on a date with me. Good point, Hindy.”

Mohinder became fed up in an instant—and he stood upright, shoving his chair aside and storming away from the table at once.

Rachel scoffed loudly as he passed by, turning and staring at him open-mouthed as he marched out of the restaurant.

Most of the time, Rachel was the one who stormed away from their arguments. She would pout and run away, hiding in her car—or in the bathroom, if the two of them happened to be at the house or Rachel’s apartment—and after half an hour of the two of them sulking alone, Mohinder would chase after her. He would tell her what she wanted to hear, and she would embrace him. The argument would be over, and they would make their way to the nearest bed to make up.

But this time, Mohinder wasn’t going to entertain the broken routine anymore. After nearly a year together, he would’ve thought that Rachel would’ve gotten past this by now—but nothing seemed to be changing. Not for the better, at least. This argument was getting old, and he simply didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Maybe, after a night of solitude, the two of them would clear their heads. Perhaps they would make up tomorrow—but that was a problem for another time. He was certain she would find a way to punish him for storming off, but as of now, it hardly mattered. For the moment, he just wanted some distance.

Mohinder stopped at his dark blue car, straightening the collar of his button-up shirt. When he popped the door open, the phone began vibrating madly from his pocket.

He sank into the driver seat and sighed, eyeing the phone and seeing a picture of an intoxicated Samuel. It was the picture Mohinder chose to use as Samuel’s contact thumbnail, an image he snapped of him at a party over a year ago. The picture showed Samuel leaning sideways on a railing and grinning crookedly at Mohinder’s camera, one of his eyes half-closed.

When he answered the call, he heard a lot of ambient sounds, crowd noises and music.

“What?” Mohinder barked.

“Mah-hin-dyyy!” a drunken Samuel exclaimed from the phone. “We’re goin’ to Rustlers! The concert’s over, man! Come drink with us at least!”

“I’m not in the mood for the bar,” Mohinder grumbled. “I’m going home.”

“What?” Samuel yelled. “Rachel don’t own you, man! Break off the damn leash for a night!”

Mohinder opened his mouth and prepared to hit Samuel with a cold retort—then, he hesitated, glimpsing back at the restaurant and feeling something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in quite a while.

He knew he was getting less and less time with his friends, and the more he allowed Rachel to control their relationship, the less freedom Mohinder found himself with every day. That—like many things about their relationship—was getting old.

Mohinder sighed, making a dry little laugh. “I think the only reason you want me there is so you’ll have a safe ride home tonight.”

“What? No, no… not… not completely. That’s only part of it.”

“All right… fine. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes!” Samuel spun around at the bar, trading high-fives with Octavia.

Mohinder hung up and climbed into his car, driving off to Rustlers for the first time in months.

When he arrived, he managed to find a parking spot in the overcrowded parking lot before marching into the bar.

Neon lights danced about inside the building as friends traded loud and slurred conversation, and drunken customers took turns trying to sing at the karaoke machine, though Mohinder suspected they were too drunk to know what their singing voices sounded like on sober ears.

“Finally!” Octavia beamed, leaping up from her stool and yanking Mohinder into a sudden hug. “It’s about damn time!”

“He-hey, glad to see you’re among the living again,” Jon smirked, emerging from the crowd briefly and patting Mohinder’s back.

“He’s gonna be living life to the fuckin’ fullest before this night’s over!” Samuel proclaimed, smacking Mohinder’s arm a bit too hard. “Christiiie! Get him a beer—actually, get him five! Put ’em all on my tab!”

“You can’t afford that,” Mohinder muttered. “Rent’s due.”

“Oooh, the hell you say!” Samuel cackled, grinning crookedly and nearly losing his balance. He grasped Mohinder’s shoulder and straightened up. “We still haf’ta pay our manager and the storage place with our band stuff… but I’m gonna have some cash leftover from that gig tonight. I’m still going to the flea market, y’know… gotta get some food money… but I’m good on cash for once. Halleluiah! It’s a goddamn mudderfuckin’ miracle!”

“Well… that is a miracle,” Mohinder remarked, his tone flat. “But I can’t stay here too long.”

“Nooo—stay! Drink! Party!” Samuel draped his arms around Mohinder and Octavia, yanking them into a lopsided embrace. “Hindyyy—start drinking! Catch up!”

Mohinder sighed and took a sip of his first beer.

Samuel managed to drag another friend of his over to the pool tables, and the two of them began to play while Mohinder leaned on the bar, glaring emptily forward.

Octavia hovered beside him, spotting the troubled look strewn across his face.

“What’s a’matter?” she asked.

Mohinder shrugged. “Rachel.”

“Ah. ’Nough said.”

Octavia laughed, though he didn’t.

They were quiet for a moment.

Octavia silently observed him, secretly admiring his clean-cut look, much like she often did.

His dark buttoned shirt had the sleeves rolled up, his hair combed neatly backward in a way that looked both stylish and formal, his face freshly-shaved and his cheekbones perfectly-carved, jawline soothingly captivating. The smell of cologne mixed with his own scent radiated off him, and she suddenly felt out of place as she stood by his side.

Octavia wore a large beanie with a black leather jacket, dirty sneakers, navy cargo pants with a black tank top, and a worn-out spike bracelet, her dark auburn hair barely visible as it crept out from beneath her hat. She didn’t look right standing beside someone so clean and primped—at least, she thought so.

For a moment, she spared Rachel a distasteful thought, wishing she could hunt down the bitchy anchor and give her a taste of her own medicine—but Octavia knew better.

Any time Rachel would fight with any of Mohinder’s friends, it made his life twice as hectic for weeks afterward. If Octavia chose to yell at Rachel, it wouldn’t help Mohinder at all.

“Can I say something?” Octavia asked, giving him a curious look.

“By all means,” Mohinder mumbled distantly.

“I don’t wanna tell you how to live, but… she really seems too controlling,” Octavia commented. “I’m not saying you should break it off, necessarily… but maybe you should... nip this in the bud soon.”

“Noted,” Mohinder sighed.

Octavia’s eyes lingered on him as he stared vacantly over the bar, still having yet to meet her gaze. He didn’t seem interested in talking to her, or anyone, for that matter. So, she repressed a sigh, turning and leaning on the bar backward, her heart making a pained thump.

She hated seeing Mohinder after he’d fight with Rachel, always wearing that wounded expression, and she often wondered how long he would keep this toxic relationship.

Quite honestly, she really missed the old days—when they first met in college, when they all hung out with their other friends, and when they all left the university to start their adult lives a year and a half ago, always spending time together up until the day Mohinder met Rachel. Ever since the two of them got together, Mohinder was becoming less and less present for all the friend activities—and it always seemed to disturb her more than she was prepared for.

And really—what did he even see in her? As kind and compassionate as he was, he should’ve realized by now that Rachel would never return that decency to him.

Octavia scoffed and shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, but these thoughts always seemed to weigh on her…

Mohinder turned his head and met her eyes suddenly, making her heart jump.

“What?” he asked her. “What’s the matter? You look a million miles away.”

Octavia shrugged. “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nope, not gonna tell you. It’s not my place.”

“Go ahead. I won’t get mad.”

Octavia stared into his large, sparkling eyes, eyes that were so genuine, she often found herself mesmerized by them.

She then sighed and straightened up.

“I just don’t think she’s any good for you,” Octavia remarked. “But that’s just my opinion.”

Mohinder nodded, spinning on his stool and watching Samuel and the others from afar. “You’re not the only one who thinks so. Jon and Samuel feel the same way… especially Sam. I just wanna do everything I can to make it work. Relationships need compromising.”

Octavia tried to agree with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

In reality, she wanted him back in her life, and she wanted Rachel to stop pulling him away. But she couldn’t tell him such a thing; it was a selfish thing to feel, and it would probably make him feel even more conflicted about the whole matter.

Mohinder squinted at her. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Octavia broke eye contact. “I’unno.”

“Stay with us,” he suggested. “Sleep on the couch.”

“You know I can’t. Rachel blows up every time I sleep over.”

“She won’t find out. There’s nothing wrong with you crashing on the couch.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t wanna cause more problems between you two.”

Mohinder gave her a brief, concerned stare before returning his attention to Jon and Samuel at the pool tables.

Octavia stared directly forward, her expression now stony.

Ever since she lost her job at the gas station, she found herself unable to afford rent on her old place, and she was forced to leave when the paychecks stopped coming. Her parents were multiple states away—and estranged from her—which left her with no one but friends to turn to. Octavia was homeless and living out of her van, and because of Rachel, she had nowhere to sleep on a regular basis.

Mohinder and Samuel used to welcome her with open arms and let her sleep on the couch every night—the three of them working in unison like the best of roommates for a while—but when Rachel found out that another woman was sleeping under Mohinder’s roof, all hell broke loose.

It was yet another thing Octavia hated about Rachel. It wasn’t enough that she was stealing Mohinder away and putting him through stress—she was also the reason Octavia had to sleep in the van alone nowadays.

Still—no matter how much she hated Rachel, and how long she had—she couldn’t bring herself to actively compromise Mohinder’s relationship. She’d sleep in the van tonight, just like she did every night now. It didn’t matter.

Jon and Samuel sauntered back to the bar, grinning and laughing after a brief swordfight with their pool cues.

After sharing another shot with Samuel, Jon then pulled out his phone and began dialing a friend without warning.

“Watch this,” he beamed at all of them.

“Who’re you calling?” Samuel asked.

“Fernando.”

“Fernando? Your prepper buddy?”

“Yeah—watch this. He hates it when I do this.”

Samuel, Octavia, and Mohinder all leaned forward and listened intently. Jon put the phone on speaker and held it between all of them. After three rings, Fernando’s voice answered.

“’Ey, Jonno,” Fernando said. “Wassup, holmes? Did Rob print out them handbooks yet?”

Jon grinned from ear to ear, hovering closely to the phone. He took in a deep breath and began to sing.

“There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright… Fernando!”

“No—fuck you, Jon! Fuck you!” Fernando exclaimed before abruptly hanging up.

All four of them exploded with laughter.

“He reeeally hates that song,” Jon cackled.

“Which is why you troll him with it,” Octavia laughed. “That’s amazing.”

“Oh my fuck… that was great,” Samuel chortled.

Mohinder laughed as well, his mood finally beginning to lighten.

The four of them played a few games of pool while they continued to down numerous drinks. When Samuel could no longer walk straight, they all decided it was time to go home.

Mohinder drove Samuel to the house, and Octavia drove behind Jon’s van to the same destination, his vehicle just as old as hers, but considerably less beaten-up.

Jon parked in the flattened grass beside the driveway, as he always did, and Octavia escorted Samuel inside the house.

Mohinder, however, marched around the house, pushing the fence open and strolling across the backyard. When he crossed the yard and reached the tree beside the fence, he gazed upward, squinting at the bottom of the treehouse. The splintery wooden planks led up to a hatch in the bottom of the structure, and the hatch was closed.

“Anthony!” Mohinder shouted up at the treehouse. “You’re brother’s here! Come down!”

Moments later, the hatch opened, and Anthony’s face stared down at him. He had the same big eyes and rounded cheeks as his Jon, though his hair was a few shades lighter and considerably wavier.

Then—Mohinder was surprised to see two more faces appear beside Anthony’s.

It was a blonde girl and a young boy with short, dark hair. Mohinder recognized both of them instantly; they were Anthony’s best friends, Amy Walker and her little brother, Roman Walker. Amy was in Anthony’s class at school, and Mohinder saw both of them daily, though he was concerned to see Amy and her brother in the treehouse at this hour. It was nearly midnight…

“Why are you here?” Mohinder asked Amy and Roman. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Daddy went out tonight,” Amy shouted down at him. “We got bored.”

“I wanted to come play!” Roman exclaimed, leaning a bit too far out of the open hatch.

“Roman—don’t lay over the edge like that. I don’t want you falling,” Mohinder stated. “Come on down. I’ll take you both home. You shouldn’t go out this late by yourselves.”

“Can we spend the night?” Amy asked.

“Yeah—let them spend the night,” Anthony agreed. “Their dad went gambling again, Mr. Verma. You know how he is.”

“I really think they need to go home,” Mohinder insisted, frowning as he thought of Amy and Roman’s father.

Mohinder was an assistant teacher at their school, and he’d met Mr. Walker on a few occasions. The man was a neglectful parent at best. He often left his nine-year-old daughter and his six-year-old son alone at home to go out and gamble. Mohinder had called the proper authorities on the matter before, but it never seemed to do much good.

“I wanna see Jon!” Roman shouted. “Tell him to come do the End Times Club!”

“You need to get home and get to bed. It’s a school night,” Mohinder replied firmly. “You can have your little club meeting tomorrow.”

Roman moaned in protest, but Amy managed to coax him out of the treehouse.

One by one, Anthony, Amy, and Roman climbed down, carrying their backpacks as they landed on the grass and followed Mohinder back to the driveway.

“Did you get your homework done?” Mohinder asked them.

“Yes…” Anthony sighed.

“I don’t have no homework,” Roman said.

“I did all the homework,” Amy said smugly, shooting Anthony a sharp look. “Anthony just copied mine. I’m the one who did all the work.”

“Shut up!” Anthony hissed, making her giggle.

Mohinder led Amy and Roman to his car, and he drove off to return them to their trailer park.

Anthony climbed into his brother’s van, finding that Jon was sitting in the driver seat and already prepared to leave. Anthony yawned and tossed his backpack in the back, climbing inside and pulling the passenger door closed.

“Sooo… you called your girlfriend over to the treehouse while I was gone, huh,” Jon snarked. “Little perv. I’m telling Sam and Mohinder exactly what you’re using their treehouse for when we’re not around.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Anthony chided defensively as he nestled into the blankets beside Jon. “She’s just part of the club—and Sam and Mr. Verma said we can use the treehouse whenever we want to.”

“Riiight. Whatever you say. Perv.”

“Shut up…”

Jon shifted gears and backed away from Mohinder and Samuel’s house, the headlights slowly shrinking away from the scene as he turned and drove away for the evening.

Inside the house, Octavia was on the couch beside Samuel, the two of them watching TV, Octavia wide awake, but Samuel seemed to be nodding in and out of consciousness.

Mohinder scoffed out a laugh as he eyed the dreary Samuel from behind the couch, dropping his keys loudly on the side table and making him jolt fully awake.

“Go to bed,” Mohinder laughed. “You are royally smashed. Go sleep it off.”

“You can’t tell me what’ta do,” Samuel murmured. “You ain’t my real mom…”

“I need some sleep, too,” Octavia said, standing and stretching as she headed for the front door. “Nighty-night, shitheads.”

“Octavia… stay,” Mohinder muttered as she passed by him. “Please stay. Sleep on the couch.”

Octavia gave him a sad smile. “Nah. Rachel’s already mad at you. If I stayed here tonight, she’d slit your throat in your sleep.”

Then, she marched out the door before he could argue.

Mohinder stared at the door for a moment, feeling conflicted. He sighed and ran his hands down his face, thinking of Rachel and feeling a surge of tension and dread. He’d have to face her again sometime in the near future, and he wasn’t looking forward to that in the slightest…

Samuel was leaning crookedly on the back of the couch, his dreary eyes resting on him.

Mohinder didn’t notice. He pulled out his phone and bravely checked his texts—and, just as he suspected, Rachel had sent him a wall of messages since he left the restaurant.

Wow. Really, Hindy? Are you serious right now?

Don’t ignore me. You’re really not coming back?

Fine. Don’t answer me. I hope that bitch is worth it.

Woooow. You’re really doing this? You’re really just leaving me here?

Thanks a lot. I guess I’ll pay for the dinner you didn’t eat. If you didn’t have the money to buy your steak, you could have just told me.

Are you kidding me? You’re seriously not coming back?

Wow. I guess this is what we’re doing. Real nice, Hindy. Real fucking nice. Have fun with your homeless side piece.

Wtf. It’s been an hour and you’re still not back? Are you kidding me right now?

Wtf. Hindy. Are you serious right now?

Great. At least I know what’s important to you. Don’t bother picking me up tomorrow, Hindy. You can spend my birthday with your nasty homeless piece instead.

You’re just going to ignore me all night? Are you serious right now?

Really mature, Hindy. Goodnight.

Mohinder groaned as his eyes ventured up and down the wall of texts. He pocketed his phone and drove his fingers into his temples, trying to massage away the headache that was suddenly forming.

“I’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark... and… I’m gonna guess she’s bitching up a fuckin’ storm,” Samuel commented, blowing a strand of his messy sandy hairs from his eyes. “Am I right?”

“Basically,” Mohinder grumbled. “She’s paranoid.”

“Because she thinks you’re banging Octavia… yeah. That’s the same shit she’s been bitching about for the past year.”

“It’s not just that. She doesn’t like me being around any of you. I’m trying to find some middle ground here, but… it’s just not working…”

“Y’want my advice?”

“No.”

“Too bad—I say dump the bitch and hook up with Octavia.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

“I’m serious. The only reason Octavia can’t stay here is because Rachel bitches about it—and I don’t like that shit. She’s our bro, dude. Don’t you think that’s a little bit fucked up?”

“Maybe… but what am I supposed to do?”

“Dump her ass? Find someone who doesn’t keep you on a man-leash?”

“I wanna make it work. I don’t just wanna cut ties and run the other direction.”

“Why not? Sometimes, that’s the right thing to do.”

“No—the right thing to do is compromise.”

“Really? She doesn’t leave you any room to compromise, Mohinder. She wants to control everything you do. I can see it, Jon can see it, Octavia can see it—but for some reason, you can’t.”

“I do see it—but Rachel is an adult, and so am I. We can work this out, and we can come to a compromise—I have to believe that. That’s the right thing to do.”

“Mohinder… sometimes, there is no right thing to do. Sometimes, all you can do is the least shitty thing possible—which, in this case, would be to dump her bitchy ass.”

“Stop talking about her like that.”

“Why? You know I’m right. You put her on this pedestal because she’s pinup sexy and she’s rich as hell—but she’s fake, and she’s controlling, and she’s a complete bitch to all of us—”

“That’s enough,” Mohinder said flatly, his voice rising.

Samuel leaned on his arms, still resting on the back of the couch as he returned his friend’s stare. Somewhere amidst Samuel’s intoxicated gaze, Mohinder spotted a hint of pity, which frustrated him even more.

“It’s sad,” Samuel mumbled. “You’re just desperate. You’re settling. You’re gonna be miserably married one day, and you’re gonna hate your life. You’re gonna be one of those old miserable couples who treats everyone like shit because they hate their own lives and they hate the person they’re stuck with. That’s what happens when you settle for someone who sucks the life outta you.”

Mohinder moaned irritably and stormed past the couch, vanishing into his bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

He tossed his phone at the nightstand and sank into his bed, glaring up at the ceiling and feeling utterly torn. Everyone seemed angry with him, and he was just trying to find a compromise between his friends and his girlfriend—but nothing seemed to work.

As time passed, his irritated thoughts lulled him into a restless slumber, and Samuel fell asleep on the couch only moments after Mohinder stormed off.

Outside—where Octavia’s van remained parked on the curb—she was curled up on the makeshift bed in the back of her old bed, drifting off to sleep for the evening, and Jon and Anthony were both doing much the same elsewhere.

They all rested through the night, and unbeknown to any of them—it would be the final night of normality any of them would ever know.